


product of a murderer

by yoonjeonghan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Torture, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Murder, Psychological Torture, hitman!jeonghan, jeonghan joshua and mingyu are the only ones who get hurt dw, junhui as mingyus sexy partner, just jeonghan killing people, mafia boss!seokmin, mingyu as a sexy fbi agent, no happy ending bc cmon its me, seokhan toxic relationship, seokmin being the devil incarnate, various inaccuracies, wonwoo as the sexy forensics expert slash doctor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoonjeonghan/pseuds/yoonjeonghan
Summary: jeonghan has never seen white until he meets kim mingyu.but white is pure. white is easily tainted, and it's not long before mingyus shade of white disappears behind a sea of blood red.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Lee Seokmin | DK, Kim Mingyu/Yoon Jeonghan, Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. choi seungcheol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls read the tags first!! i cant stress that enough!! i'm not sure if my writing is graphic compared to other peoples works, but it still does contain a lot of heavy themes and violence that can potentially be triggering to some people

yoon jeonghan likes red.

he likes the red that he sees when he walks into lee seokmin's office. the red carpets that his knees dig into every time he steps foot into the room. the red curtains that seokmin throws open whenever he has jeonghan bent over the desk, completely at his mercy. but most importantly, jeonghan loves the red he sees, wrapped around his neck as a collar, like a prize for every soul he takes. for every plea for mercy he hears. for every drop of blood he sheds. he loves the way seokmin tugs hard on it, cutting off his breathing as jeonghan claws at the desk under him, his lungs struggling from the lack of oxygen.

jeonghan likes red, but he also loathes a specific shade of red. this one, he notices, is much richer. much darker. it's the red that kick starts his heart to start pounding in his chest. it's the red he sees whenever seokmin presents a new file to him on the table. it's the red he smells when he drags his blade over a patch of skin. it's the red he sees whenever someone so much as stands within a five meter radius from seokmin. it's the red he sees when he has all four of his limbs locked down onto _the chair_ , as lee jihoons bat clangs on the floor with every step he takes towards jeonghan, that ever present, sickening smile etched permanently on his face.

that red is lee jihoons shade red. lee jihoon is _red_ , and jeonghan hates it. jeonghan hates him. hates how happy he makes seokmin whenever jihoon beats someone to a bloody pulp. that should be _him_ being praised by seokmin. all jihoon does is swing his bat at someone who cant get away in the first place. his job was _easy_.

jeonghan never had the time to restrain his victims. why didn't seokmin acknowledge that? was it because jeonghan had a hard time complying? was it because jeonghan had to be sent to jihoon everytime seokmin had a new task for him? did seokmin hate him for it? is that why seokmin doesn't put on his collar on him much anymore? does seokmin not love him anymore?

"jeonghan, baby," seokmin murmurs, "look at me."

he finds it difficult to tear his eyes away from the file in front of him. the passport picture of a man name choi seungcheol is paper clipped onto the top right of the page. sometimes, jeonghan feels like the images are looking right back at him as if they knew how much he hated getting blood on his hands and on his shirt and in his hair.

he squirms. he never lets them see him; at least not until after he's done his job.

"jeonghan," seokmin repeats, more sternly this time. "look at me."

finally, jeonghan wills himself to look at seokmin.

when jeonghan looks at seokmin, he holds the galaxy in his eyes. he looks at seokmin like he's his world; his everything. like seokmin's breath is worth more than his entire life. like seokmin is his god, and jeonghan is merely here to do his bidding.

but seokmins eyes are cold as they stare back at jeonghan. disappointed, maybe even. he sighs, shutting the file.

it's the sigh that sends jeonghan into an immediate panic. that sigh means he's messed up. he's fucked up. seokmin is upset with him. what had he done? he hadn't even said a word. what happened-

"do you not want to do this mission?" seokmin inquires.

does he?

jeonghan needs a moment to think. he always does, but he shouldn't, because he's literally an _assassin_. assassins don't take time to think, they make decisions on a whim. they'll _die_ if they think for even a second too long.

and jeonghan doesn't want to die. not as long as he still has seokmin to come back to.

"s-sir, i-"

"it's a simple question, jeonghan." seokmin tsks impatiently, "do you want to do it, yes, or no?"

jeonghan thinks.

no.

choi seungcheol hasn't done anything wrong.

"no," jeonghan says. he wishes it were as loud as he intended for it to be, but it comes out barely louder than a whisper.

but that doesn't matter. he's just defied seokmin, defied his _god_.

he looks up at seokmin.

seokmin looks back at him.

"you know what that means, don't you?"

jeonghans mind swirls.

he knows what that means.

"you know what happens to those who disobey me, baby."

_they die_ , jeonghan thinks.

but frankly, dying would be so much less painful than what seokmin is about to put him through. hell, he wouldn't even mind dying, as long as it was by seokmins hand, because seokmin always knows what's best for him. if seokmin wants him to die, he will. if seokmin wants him to kill himself, he will.

anything for seokmin.

"get up," seokmin says. " _now_ , jeonghan."

seokmins hand around his arm is rough as he gets pulled through the hallways, down to the door at the very end. jihoons ‘office’, as everyone seems to call it, although jihoons office can barely be called an office. the floors are plain concrete, and so are the walls, save for a feature wall with hooks and shelves drilled into them to display devices with purposes jeonghan wouldn't even dare to ponder.

locking the door behind him, seokmin throws jeonghan onto his knees. "y'know, i'm starting to think you like being in here. is jihoon too soft on you, huh? is that why it’s so hard for you listen to me lately?"

no. oh god, fuck no. it takes him a moment, but the rough, gray floors have just registered in jeonghans mind. he's no longer in seokmins office. he's not in the lounge, not at his apartment, he's _here_ , and it feels like he's just been thrown into a lions den.

jeonghan chokes, instantly turning around to crawl back to seokmins feet. "i-i'm sorry. sir, please, i'm sorry! i'll do it, i'll do anything, please! i’ll do it! please let me out! please don't make him hurt me!"

but seokmin just scoffs. "beg jihoon to spare your life."

* * *

it doesn't take long for jeonghan to start begging.

this time, he doesn't even get the privilege of sitting down. his wrists are shackled, pulled high above his head while jihoon keeps his legs spread apart, tied by his ankles to two nails in the floor. usually, seokmin leaves right after jihoon has him completely restrained, no matter how much jeonghan screams for him to come back, but this time, seokmin seems to find a particular pleasure in seeing jihoon have jeonghan forced into submission.

jeonghan isn't sure whether he likes the fact that seokmin is watching as jihoon reduces him to nothing but a pliant, bloody mess.

his wrists are beginning to ache from holding all his weight up. the shackles dig deep into his skin, perhaps even hard enough to draw blood, but jeonghan cant find a single ounce of strength inside his body to hold himself up. he wonders if jihoon's even _close_ to done with him. how long has it even been? half an hour? an hour? what if it's only been ten minutes since they started? how much longer is jihoon going to hurt him for?

"open your mouth," jihoon says.

jeonghan complies, willing his jaw to move as jihoon ties a piece of cloth around it. the fabric pulls uncomfortably at the corners of his mouth, but the thought of discomfort is instantly replaced by the spike of fear that shoots up his spine.

what the fuck is that? what the hell? he has never seen that before. was it new? it looks new. oh god, is jihoon going to use that on him?

"like it?" jihoon smiles, "you'll get to be the first one to use it too. isn't that exciting?"

back then, he'd choose any of jihoons whips over the metal bat he usually uses. he didn't care how hard jihoon would bring it down over his back. he didn't care that they dug so deep into his skin that it'd split in two. didn’t care how his back would feel like someone poured salt and rubbed them deep in his wounds. anything, _anything_ over the bat.

one look at a new whip, with knots littered in its tassels and thinned ends that would bite into his skin, is enough to make jeonghan change his mind.

jeonghan frantically shakes his head, trying to beg jihoon, but the gag around his mouth makes all his words come out as just a gargle. he's tugging at the ropes around his ankle, but all they'll allow for is half a step forwards, and no more.

jeonghan's stuck. he can't move. jihoon's behind him with a weapon that's going to tear him into pieces and he can't even move out of the way so he doesn't get hurt. can’t beg jihoon to stop. can’t scream out for someone to make it stop.

"stay still," jihoon says from somewhere behind him.

when the first strike hits his back, the searing pain on his back is so loud that he barely registers his own voice, screaming out into the hollow room. the skin on his back feels like it's on fire, like it's already bleeding out, but jeonghan knows it takes much more than just one hit to break him.

and when it comes to breaking jeonghan, jihoon is the most enthusiastic.

"pretty," he murmurs while tracing the blooming red marks. jeonghan flinches at his touch.

"do you want more, hoonie?" seokmin calls.

"yes sir. can i?"

jeonghan makes eye contact with seokmin, hoping that maybe their bond was strong enough for seokmin to understand jeonghan without words. jeonghan tries his best to tell seokmin through his eyes that he's tired and that he's learned his lesson and he just wants all the pain to stop and he just wants to be in seokmins arms again. he just wants to be away from jihoon, in seokmins embrace where he feels the safest.

"do what you want."

every shard of hope jeonghan has, promptly thrown out the window.

_do what you want._

it's humiliating to have seokmin in the room, but jeonghan still finds himself panicking when seokmin turns to leave. his heart drops, seeing seokmin grab the handle of the door and leave without so much of a final glance at jeonghan.

no, that's because seokmin knows jeonghan will be back. seokmin still cares about him, he wants him alive. seokmin wants to see him again. he just didn't have to say so, right? seokmin's expecting him, he's sure of it.

he barely even notices that jihoon's come up to his side, stroking his skin through the holes where his shirt has ripped. he's so lost in the thought of seokmin and seeing seokmin and touching seokmin. jeonghan just wants seokmin here to tell him that everything's going to be okay.

the whip strikes his back, but jeonghan is okay. he won't scream out. he's going to see seokmin again after this. he will. he must.

* * *

days later, jeonghan finds himself on the doorstep of a small home. choi seungcheols home. an innocent mans home.

the same innocent man whose life he is about to take.

but that's okay. it's what seokmin wants. jeonghan will get seokmin whatever he wants. jeonghan wants seokmin to be happy with him.

he barely feels the fifty lashes on his back over the adrenaline in his veins and the pounding in his ears. the soft fabric of his shirt grazes the healing wounds, but their sting is nothing compared to the way jeonghans hands tremble as he raises it to press on the doorbell.

the person behind this door will die in jeonghans hands. he doesn’t deserve it, but jeonghans opinion is always second to seokmins. if seokmin wants him dead, then that’s exactly what he will be, and jeonghan would do it for him.

his finger touches the plastic of the ringer, pressing harder until he hears a faint bell noise go off in the house. someone yells a ‘coming!’, followed by rapid footsteps, then the lock sliding out of place, until the door finally swings open to reveal-

what?

“y-you’re not my hyung…” the boy mumbles, fear instantly taking over his features.

_assassins don't take time to think._

“i’m seungcheolie hyungs friend.” jeonghan smiles, “is he not home?”

“no,” the boy pouts, visibly warming up already, “but he’s out to get us some fried chicken for lunch! isn’t that so cool?!”

jeonghan gulps.

it doesn’t take much from him to get this _boy_ , who couldn't have been over thirteen, to let jeonghan in the house. with nothing to back up the fact that he’s a friend of seungcheols and the reason why he doesn’t know this boys name when he’s friends with his brother, jeonghan has to piece things together from the clutter around the house. it’s quite small for a family of four, or maybe three. there’s a second floor, but the boy says that all there’s to see upstairs are their bedrooms. a kid wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t he? jeonghan chooses to give him the benefit of the doubt, leaving the second floor alone.

“you can wait in the living room,” the boy smiles, “you’ll hear when hyung comes home.”

he then disappears down the hall. jeonghan wonders if maybe this is a trap, that seungcheol had seen this coming and had used his brother and that story as a diversion to buy them both some time, but how could he? he couldn’t have known who seokmin was that night at the bar, right? couldn’t have known who jeonghan was?

anxious and agitated, jeonghan stands up. he scans the room for clues as to where he is, who he’s _really_ dealing with. a glass cabinet becomes his first target as he leaves the side of the lone, double seater couch. the cabinet is filled from top to bottom with shiny, gold plated achievements adorned with ribbons of all colours. jeonghan spots one awarded to choi seungcheol, 1st place in a taekwondo competition. right behind that very medal is a certificate, with seungcheols photo on it. he's clad in a dobok, but the black belt tied around his waist attracts his attention more than anything else in his peripheral vision.

damn. a black belt. jeonghan should've listened to his mom when he was younger.

a sigh. jeonghan moves on to the trophy right next to it.

this time, the award doesn't belong to seungcheol. instead, the name lee chan is carved into the plate on the base of the trophy, right under a symbol of a book. an award for exceptional grades in his last year of middle school, bestowed upon lee chan, who must be seungcheols brother, the boy who let him in, otherwise why would his trophy be in this cabinet? the different last names don't make sense, but jeonghan deduces that chan is the brain, and seungcheol is the muscle of the family.

chan may be book smart, but he doesn't appear to be street smart.

there’s a shelf of photos on one of the walls, but one in particular catches his eyes. the two standing frames on both sides of the middle picture contain four people; a mother, a father, and two sons who he assumes is seungcheol and the boy from earlier. the picture in the middle, however, only shows what seems to be a self taken picture of the two siblings; seungcheol has his arm around his brother, the biggest smiles on both of their faces.

that's not what gets him, though.

the frames are all black and wooden. the frames on the left and right have dust visibly piling on top, and the black has faded to reveal the brown wood colour hidden underneath. jeonghan even notices that the glass protecting the photo has yellowed over time.

the one in the middle though? spotless. not a scratch, and the paint is still as good as new.

suddenly, it all clicks.

looking around the living room, there's enough room for another sofa for two, but there's only one that sits in the middle of the room, facing the television. in the kitchen, there are only two stools to go with the kitchen island in the middle. the island, however, is way too big for just two stools, and jeonghan can hardly understand why a house with only two people living it in would even need an island.

jeonghan enters the kitchen, instantly rummaging through the drawers. if his assumptions were correct, then the crockery would also be incomplete. there would be almost no benefit of selling it, unlike the sofa and the stools, but jeonghan wasn't sure how well seungcheols freelance jobs paid him.

jeonghan pulls the drawers open.

two spoons. two forks. two pairs of chopsticks.

then, the overhead cabinets.

two bowls. two plates. two cups.

fuck.

acid rises up as far as the back of his mouth. he can't kill seungcheol. he cant take away the only direct family chan has left. their parents aren't even around anymore, due to whatever reason they had. jeonghan wont stick around long enough to find out; he races to the bottom of the stairwell, calling out chans name.

"yes?" he calls back.

jeonghan gulps. "i think i'm going to head back. just tell seungcheol that i came by an-"

somebody knocks on the front door.

jeonghans gut feels like it’s just been punched. he can hear chan speaking, but he sounds so far away, like jeonghan is underwater and chan is speaking to him from somewhere above the surface. his heart falls all the way to the floor as he turns to look at the door where he sees the blurred shadow of a person behind the little frosted glass embedded in the front door. even without a clear view of the persons face, jeonghan knows its not seungcheol. of course it isn’t. it can’t be. the probability that seungcheol didn’t bring his keys with him is small, and the probability of seungcheol leaving the keys with chan is so much less, so why would seungcheol have to knock on the door of his own house?

whoever the man behind the door is doesn’t give jeonghan another second to think of his next move, because after a beat of silence, there’s a loud bang against the door before the wood around the lock breaks off, and the door violently swings open. this time, jeonghan doesn’t hesitate. he barely catches a glimpse of what the intruder looks like before he books it towards the screen back door, running in a zig zagged line towards the woods behind the house.

behind him, he hears someone yell “junhui, keep the kid safe!”. quick, heavy footsteps are hot on his trail, shooting the spaces near jeonghan in an attempt to intimidate him, but jeonghan doesn’t give in. if he were to be honest, never in his life has he ever felt as free as he did in that moment. sure, he’s being chased and shot at and his life is at risk, but the way the branches crunched under his feet, and the many low hanging branches that he swatted away as he carried himself through the forest made him feel as if he could breathe for the first time in a long time.

the cool wind on his face, the browning leaves littered all around the forest floor; maybe in another life, he could’ve been doing this without anything weighing his chest down.

as the trees pass by him in a blur and the wind lightens his footsteps, jeonghan begins to shake his pursuer off his back. there are no more bullets flying around him, and his footsteps sound further than they were five seconds ago, but jeonghan doesn’t slow down. he needs to get back to seokmin, even if he failed his mission, but that should be okay, right? there were unforeseen circumstances. seokmin would understand, wouldn’t he? jeonghan wouldn’t even have to tell him about how he decided to just leave-

a stray root hooks itself around jeonghans foot. one second, jeonghan has the whole world in his hands, and the next, he's falling face first onto a bed of dried leaves.

he has no time. jeonghan pushes himself up, but there's a grunt behind him before a weight falls onto his back, pushing him back down against the ground. the stranger grabs for his wrists. jeonghan pulls as hard as he can, but his grip is like iron as he tugs them to settle on his lower back.

"stay still," he mutters, "you don't want it to hurt, don't you?"

for some reason, jeonghans mind starts to spin at those words. he stops straining so much in the strangers grip, allowing him to fix the metal handcuffs around his wrists.

when the man hoists him up, for a second, jeonghan sees the gray walls of jihoons room, and the pools of his blood on the floor beneath him.

in a blink, he's taken back to the forest.

"alright, let's move."

jeonghan gets his first real look at this guy. one of the things that jeonghan notices first about him is his height. jeonghan grew up on the taller side, but this man seemed to tower over him anyway. the white shirt he has on, now partially damp with sweat, does absolutely nothing to hide his very obvious muscles. his gaze is cold and sharp as he locks eyes with jeonghan, but jeonghan doesn't lose his balance. this is just some nis agent, he couldn't possibly do more than lee jihoon.

but jeonghan has to go back, or else seokmin would think he's betrayed him. he has to go back. this can't be the end of him. this isn't where he gets thrown into jail for life, is it?

before the agent tugs jeonghan along, jeonghan plants his feet onto the ground, quietly saying, "let me go. please."

the agent pauses, turning around to make eye contact once again with jeonghan. his expression is less malicious than it had been in the beginning, but he scoffs as a response in the end. without another word, he pulls jeonghan by the chain connecting the two cuffs with a death grip.

perhaps getting arrested isn't the worst thing on earth. this is the real world, is it not? jeonghan is finally free from the confines of the base, his rundown apartment, seokmins office, or even jihoons office. he'll meet other people, even though they'll all treat him like some sort of animal. he'll go to new places, and maybe if he played his cards right, he could change his fate.

maybe jeonghan could get a shot at a real life, if he complied. if he sells seokmin out. gives the nis what they want.

would he? in exchange for a normal life?

to jeonghan, the feeling of running through a forest without bounds, like the weight of the world is no longer on your chest and you feel as if you're running as fast as the wind, that's worth more than the empty promises seokmin would give him.

jeonghan thinks that maybe, just maybe,

he could finally be free from seokmin.


	2. kim mingyu; part one.

three days.

it’s been three days since jeonghan last saw seokmin. since jeonghan last saw the brown and red and yellow of the leaves on the trees outside.

three days of praying that seokmin would magically come bursting in through the doors to save him; rescue him from these people.

three days of thinking that the slide of the tray of food on the floor was something other than what it really is.

three days of disappointment.

three days of nothing.

jeonghan begins to think that nobody’s coming to save him.

* * *

on the fourth day, the door opens, and in walks the man who put him here. he’s dressed much more formally than what he had on during his time on the field. his dark hair was dripping sweat when they first met, but this time it’s neatly slicked back with gel, revealing much more of his face than jeonghan had initially gotten. like his eyebrows, or the little scar on his right temple, or how he looks much warmer now that he isn’t exhausted and pissed that jeonghan even thought he could get away.

he looks calmer, but jeonghan is much more aggressive now.

“yoon jeonghan,” he begins, voice as even as the sea on a quiet morning, “good morning.”

_not a good morning with you here_ , jeonghan thinks.

the room is something between an interrogation room and a holding cell. there are no windows. the only reflective surface is a huge mirror on one side that jeonghan’s a hundred percent sure is the two way mirror they’ve been observing him from. there’s a mattress on the floor with a thin blanket on top that they’ve provided for him, but for all the three nights he’s spent here, he’s barely touched the second half of the mattress, preferring to curl up into a ball, taking up only half of what he’s been given.

the items that jeonghan’s toyed with the most, though, is the lone table in the centre of the room. its legs aren’t bolted down onto the floor, which is odd considering the fact that these people are aware that jeonghan is an _assassin_. they should know he could use the table legs as a weapon, shouldn’t they? hell he’d even pick up one of those chairs to use as a shield, given the chance of escaping.

the absence of the bolts holding the table down on the floor, however, just makes jeonghan less willing to turn against them.

pulling one of the chairs under him, jeonghan’s nis agent sits down. “come sit.”

but jeonghan doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the mattress, eyes glaring holes into the stranger while his fingers grip the fabric of the blanket in his hands.

he hums. “that’s okay. we can do this from where you are.” he switches over to the chair on the other side of the table. “is this okay?”

jeonghans eyes flit to where the tip of the agents shoes is planted on the floor. there's barely a whole meter of distance between them. _too close._ jeonghan narrows his eyes at him.

he scoots backwards, pulling his feet under the chair. "sorry, better?"

jeonghan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

slowly, the agent gives jeonghan information. his name is kim mingyu, he works for the nis, and he's been after seokmin for almost a year now. he tells him that he's safe here, but he's under surveillance twenty four hours a day, hence the security cameras, and that mingyu is the person he should tell when he needs anything. he tells jeonghan that they're far away from where seungcheol is. his rate of success if he were to escape would be a mere five percent.

jeonghan may love seokmin, but not over a ninety five percent chance of him dying in a place where seokmin will never be able to retrieve him.

"jeonghan, i really hope that we can work together," mingyu says, truly hopeful, "you won't believe me, but my goal here isn't to throw you in prison for life."

"you arrested me," jeonghan reminds him. his voice is quieter than he'd like and the words come out rough from his vocal cords staying idle for the past three days, but mingyu hears him nonetheless.

"i know, i'm sorry. do your wrists hurt?"

jeonghan glances down. there's a dark ring around his wrist, and there are yellowing bruises from the section where his hand meets his arm, all the way up to the midway point to his elbow, but at this point of time, he's not sure whether they're from mingyu's handcuffs, jihoons shackles, or jihoons shoes anymore.

"no," jeonghan chokes out in a whisper.

"i'll get you ointment for it," mingyu says anyway, and the way he delivers it gives jeonghan no room for argument. "you must be bored too, does a book sound alright?"

jeonghan nods wordlessly, staring right into mingyus eyes. he searches and searches and searches, looking for some kind of sign that mingyu's bluffing, because no way in hell would his nis handler be this nice towards him? give him a mattress to sleep on, medication, entertainment, actual freedom and trust? is this some kind of experiment? or did jeonghan get shot while he was running in the forest those days ago, and this was just his own personal version of hell?

after that day, the meetings continued daily. once a day, at what seems to be the same time if jeonghan’s internal clock is counting correctly, mingyu would sit on one of the chairs, with some snacks for the both of them sometimes, and just talk to him for at least an hour. mingyu would tell him about his day, about what’s going on in the world, about a pigeon he saw on the way here that just seemed too plump to be able to fly. jeonghan cracks a smile at one point, but it disappears as soon as he realizes.

by the end of the first week, jeonghan has progressed from his spot on the mattress in the corner of the room to the chair in front of mingyu. the thought of exposing a vulnerable area of his body to mingyu felt like a cry for certain doom, so he still keeps his hands off the table, preferring to have them on his lap, unless mingyu was showing him pictures.

"can i get a clock?" jeonghan suddenly asks one day.

mingyu, who was initially writing something down onto a piece of paper, ceases his movements to look at jeonghan. "a clock?"

jeonghan nods.

the agent hums in acknowledgment. "i suppose i could get you one. digital? analogue?"

"digital, please." jeonghan says quietly, “preferably one with the date too."

he wonders if he's asked for too much with that last bit he added at the end. it's probably a pain just to get jeonghan all the items mingyu's given him these past few weeks. it's not like mingyu doesn't have his own life to tend to outside of jeonghan, yet here he is, bringing jeonghan most of what he asks for.

"okay, i'll get one today," mingyu smiles.

jeonghan blinks.

_mingyu's pretty when he smiles,_ he thinks.

"thank you," he says.

* * *

saturday, twenty ninth of august, fourty minutes past nine in the morning. jeonghan stares blankly at the clock on the table, positioned to face his mattress. his legs are still hidden under the (recently) improved blanket he's received from mingyu, thicker and heavier for him to withstand the cold nights alone. he grips the hem of the blanket to fiddle with the soft fabric between his fingertips.

today, there are footsteps pacing through hallways outside.

jeonghan wonders if that’s mingyu.

he'd be lying if he said he'd never once thought about what would be behind that door. he wonders if they were in the middle of nowhere, and that he'd be faced with a seemingly endless stretch of barren land as far as the eye could see. maybe mingyu's telling the truth, and they've been in the nis headquarters this entire time, to which jeonghan will be greeted by hundreds of guards the moment he steps a foot beyond that door. the only hint he had as to what it could be is the glimpse of a white wall whenever mingyu enters the room, and the occasional chatter he'd hear from passing strangers. guards, perhaps. maybe there were other cells identical to his, with criminals identical to him being held in all of those cells.

the door opens, and jeonghan catches a glimpse of the white wall outside once again. he wonders if maybe this is a hospital instead.

“hello,” mingyu greets, taking his place on the table and placing a red box on the table.

upon closer inspection however, the box, really, is just a twelve-piece box of choco pie. it’s not some ominous box containing a singular key item in the middle; just another one of mingyus snacks, as he occasionally brings in.

but mingyu couldn't have known, could he?

in some obscure corner of his memories, jeonghan faintly recalls the same shade of red. sitting on top of the dining table in his old childhood home, on the shelves of the grocery store as his mother told him they couldn't afford it right now, between him and his sister as they each grabbed a piece from the box.

ah...older times. simpler times. _happier_ times.

he wonders where his sister is.

"jeonghan?"

mingyus voice snaps jeonghan out of his trance. he blinks himself back to reality: the cold plastic of the chair under his legs and the file in his hands. jeonghan looks up at mingyu.

"what were you thinking of?" he asks.

_my family. my mom. my sister._

"choco pie.” jeonghan chooses to simply reply with.

mingyu snorts, a smile forming on his face. "you know you can just take one, right? that's why i brought them here."

and jeonghan almost, _almost_ does. his brain has sent the impulses halfway to the motor nerves in his arm, but he stops halfway. he can't. what if it causes another trigger? mingyu would find out. mingyu would _know_. mingyu can't know, can't see jeonghan vulnerable, or he'll poke and poke until jeonghan breaks and gives him all the information he has on seokmin.

he's dying to remember what the chocolate tasted like. how the chewy cake felt, sticking to his molars. how the layer of marshmallow melted on his tongue. how his sister as they shared that same snack. how his mother held him close to her whenever they went out of the house.

but he cannot.

eye contact breaks. jeonghan opens the file without another word.

* * *

triggers, as jeonghan has recently learned, play a huge role in his life.

it starts with mingyus box of choco pie. the more he stares at the digital clock on the table, he vaguely recalls the same shade of gray that the numbers and letters are written with on another digital clock back in his family home; the one on the counter in his kitchen, that doubled as a timer so that his mother could exactly time how long it'd take to cook their meals.

the suits mingyu always had on reminds him of that one time some weird men showed up at his doorstep. he'd been in the living room, watching television with his mom when a knock on the door came. two men in suits showed his mother their badges, and he'd been too far away from the door to hear anything, but he briefly caught his fathers name, and the words _mafia_ and _dead_.

no matter. he’d never known his father well enough to shed a tear at the burial anyway.

most of the times it'd be colours, or scents, or flavours. once, mingyu brought in a bag of poka chips, and the saltiness of the snack took him right back to university, when he spent nights studying with a friend in his dorm room, eating those same chips.

jeonghan is glad for his senses. of course he is, how could he not be? he couldn't ever imagine a life without sight, smell, taste, touch, or hearing. he figures that perhaps, in the absence of any one of those, living would not be worth it at all.

right now, however, jeonghan wishes that he'd been born deaf. or someone had shot him right on the ear during a mission. or maybe he'd been in such close proximity to a detonating bomb, and it had permanently eliminated his hearing. maybe that version of him in an alternate universe wouldn't be here, cowering under a table with a death grip on a chair. or maybe they would, but at least they wouldn't have to _hear it_.

ever since he got here, all his mind brought back to him were images of his mother, or his sister, or the blurry faces of his friends back in university. there was no red, no blood, no pain, no seokmin. just him, his family, and his friends.

but the metallic vibrations soar through the air once again, and jeonghan sees nothing but concrete gray, and the outline of a long, slender bat being dragged on the floor.

he'd knocked the clock off the table in a haste as he pushed the table to the corner of the room. with two sides against the wall, he'd barricaded the longer exposed side of the table with his mattress. he clutched the blanket tightly in one hand, the other gripping the seat of a chair turned over to its side. on the floor, the dark gray numbers stared at him with a bold _9:35AM_.

thirty five minutes past nine. ten more minutes until mingyu comes in. ten minutes too long. he needs it to stop. needs the noises to stop. needs jihoon to stop and get away from him because he should be _safe_ here, with mingyu.

except he's not, because jihoon is _outside that door_ and mingyu is not here. he is all alone, and jihoon is going to hurt him so much more than he ever has because jeonghan betrayed him and seokmin and their entire crew and he still is with every passing second he spends here. jihoon's going to make him bleed and regret he'd ever been born with his sense of touch, and seokmin would watch with a smile, growing more and more content with every drop of jeonghan's blood that would pool on the ground.

jeonghan squeezes his head in between his arms, fingers locked together behind his head as he pushes his knees closer to his chest. it can't be jihoon out there. he's far away, and seokmin never lets him tag along on missions anyway. wherever jeonghan is, he's pretty sure it's crawling with law enforcement personnel, so it can't be jihoon, or he'd be shot to death by now, or worse, arrested.

but what if it is? does mingyu even know who jihoon is? what if jihoon had managed to get past security under a fake name? fake status? falsified documents? what if he's here to finally end jeonghans life, right there, as he's curled up into a ball under a table? what if he does so much worse? take him back to the base where he’d proceed to drag out jeonghan’s death for as long as he pleases? what if jeonghan ends up in some abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of town? who would care enough to report a dead body in a place where the wind doesn’t even blow?

"fuck," jeonghan grits, fingernails digging into the back of his hands, "fuck, fuck. fuck."

he should call for help. someone. _anyone._

"mingyu." but it comes out as a whimper, audible to only jeonghan.

_he can't hear him._

so jeonghan tries again. _“mingyu,”_ and it's much louder this time.

time passes quicker than jeonghan can keep track. he barely opens his eyes, barely glances at the clock on the floor. he can hardly hear himself over the ringing in his ears, but his throat is beginning to hurt and his mouth is running dry, so he must be screaming out _something_. it could've been hours, or minutes, maybe even seconds. jeonghan doesn't even know if the clanging has stopped; he hears nothing.

he doesn't even hear it when mingyu comes bursting through the door. he wouldn't have known, if he didn't open his eyes that very moment. jeonghan stops screaming then, voice lowering back to the whimper he'd started out with.

"jeonghan, it's me. it's mingyu," mingyu says, kneeling on the floor in front of jeonghan. "hey, it's okay. i'm here, okay? you're okay."

"mingyu," jeonghan whispers, shaky. he feels a heat cloud over his eyes before the tears begin rolling down, "make it stop."

"make what stop?"

jeonghan points out the door. "the- the noise."

mingyu quickly turns his head to look out the still opened door. jeonghan scoots backwards until his back hits the corner, still clutching the blanket and the chair in his hands.

footsteps burning into the floor, mingyu makes his way past the doorframe. he feels the blood rush to his head as he stalks over to the guard on duty. he's a new recruit, fresh out of the police academy. mingyu swears he told his supervisor that hiring some police academy failure as a guard would be a horrible idea. fuck, they're a national scale intelligence agency; how badly did they need some guard to hire some complete nuisance?

the still clueless guard holds his baton lazily in his hand, clanging it against the bars of a holding cell. mingyu, with his hands balled up into fists, almost throws a punch at his face.

in time, his partner stops him. wen junhui, with his arm firmly on his chest. he stares right into mingyus eyes, a silent warning to calm down, as he often does since he decided to spend the rest of his career with mingyu.

junhui tells him: "i'll talk to him. jeonghan needs you."

jeonghan needs him.

mingyu is needed.

with a wordless nod, mingyu leaves junhui. jeonghan is still under the table, shaking like a leaf by the time mingyu returns. he sits down cross legged, establishing some distance between him and jeonghan. at that, jeonghan relaxes, letting his legs fall closer towards the floor.

not a single word is uttered. jeonghan avoids eye contact, opting to play with the fabric in his hands as mingyu watches him silently, patiently. his gaze doesn't make jeonghan squirm uncomfortably. rather, it allows jeonghan some time to stabilize his breathing and stop the adrenaline rush. he breathes in, breathes out, rubs the spot on his wrist where the base of his hand meets his arm.

"i'm sorry," jeonghan mumbles.

"why are you sorry?"

jeonghan gulps. "f-for bothering you. making a scene. i'm sorry. was irrational."

mingyu smiles, shaking his head, even if jeonghan isn't looking at him. "no, you were scared. it's okay. i did tell you i’d protect you, didn't i?"

did he?

even if he did, he meant it?

slowly, jeonghan turns to look at mingyu. the latter is still in his previous position, on the floor with his legs cross legged. he's but down his height by half, but mingyu still looks like a fully grown ten year old at this height. jeonghan glances at his lap, and then his own body.

he wonders if maybe...

"wanna come out? or would you feel safer there?"

jeonghan doesn't care. he just wants to be with mingyu.

jeonghan quietly leaves his fortress, leaving the fallen chair behind. the blanket sits on his lap as he scoots out from under the table.

anyone would think he was heading for the space in front of mingyu, or beside him. hell, anywhere would've been better than jeonghans choice; mingyu's lap. the wrapping of his arms around mingyus body sends the agent into a brief shock. the weight of the other on his legs and the slight tremble as a warm liquid begins to soak the shoulder of his outerwear, too. jeonghan mumbles 'thank you' over and over again, no matter how much mingyu told him not to worry about it.

jeonghan continues anyway. mingyu would never understand, but he hopes that the fingers he has tangled in the material of mingyus shirt delivers his message better than words will.


End file.
